Home Front
by randomcat23
Summary: Season 7/8 Interlude. Ezekiel makes a move. Carol makes a gut decision and eventually finds her place in the war again. Caryl.


**Disclaimer:** Nope, randomcat23 does not own The Walking Dead.

 _Revised version posted February 2018 (see author's note at end)_

* * *

The street drain is clogged with limbs. The sidewalk, a lumpy obstacle course of bodies. Coppery rot permeates the air from knife slices to temples. Chunky gore and bone splinters halo the walkers bludgeoned to death.

Teams of Kingdom guards move through the carnage. Some check each corpse for head wounds. Others strip and collect useful weapons. There is an entire squad counting and dragging away any of their own to be properly buried.

Carol avoids meeting the lifeless eyes of the ones who had been alive at the start of this fight, but she knows them all and each loss stings like a slap.

 _"Five, so far. Robert. Joel. Becca. Randall. Allison."_

Her steps send shockwaves up her legs and into the tip of her spine. Unsteady hands fumble through pockets for a cigarette. Once she finally pinches one, Carol sinks onto the nearest house's steps. Her eyelids flutter with the first smoky sigh.

From down the street, King Ezekiel nods gravely at her. The end of his cloak slaps against his calves, heavy with blood. He takes his time weaving through bodies, pausing briefly to clap his soldiers' backs. There's a shifting swirl of emotion on the King after the battle. Pride is evident in his straight back, love for his people in his furrowed brow. Grief presents itself in the shadows under his eyes and wet cheeks. However, satisfaction eventually wins out over all other emotions, and he smiles before joining Carol on the splattered porch steps.

"This was a well earned victory," he greets and folds his hands atop his cane. The Saviors' trap, a herd directed at the Kingdom, nearly reached its goal before their scout raced back with the terrifying report.

 _"We were lucky,"_ she thinks grimly, but voices an affirmative, "Indeed."

Time, their most precious resource, is used down to the last seconds. They are still catching their breath, but the King immediately unrolls the next battle plan. The Kingdom has been put in charge of keeping the roads passable between the communities. Supplies, information, and people travel back and forth daily regardless of safety, but it is more efficient to have reliable routes.

"We need to clear this road here. Porter's Lane." Despite its name, the trail is a long, rural road connecting Alexandria and The Kingdom almost directly. Ezekiel taps the map twice and then clears a knot from his throat. "Allison last reported that walkers clustered in this building here."

Carol nods and adds her opinion on the proposed troops movement, careful gaze sweeping over the circled landmarks: Gas Station. Apartment Building. Chain Link Fence. Swimming Pool.

Pieces of a plan click together as she stubs out her cigarette. "I'll do it on my way to Hickory. We'll lead the walkers into that community pool."

"A fine plan, General," he beams.

When King Ezekiel declared that they'd march to Alexandria to help fend off the Saviors, Carol was the first to jump aboard. Swept up in the need to avenge her family, Carol thought of nothing beyond the task at hand; she couldn't fathom trying to ponder what came after the dust settled.

Just like Rosie the Riveter before her, she'd adopted a new job for the war effort.

 _"Hang up the skirt, put away the books, and go to war,"_ she had told herself, blocking out any misgivings about her own mental health.

Now responsibility chained her to the Kingdom.

Those under her command chirped nothing but praise about her tactics, pragmatism, and bravery. She'd taken two outposts just in the last week, five total in the last month. It was more than any other squad.

But success does not breed acceptance; she forced commands out through a clogged throat and holding their lives in her hands ensured sleepless nights. Attempts to keep them all at arm's length proved difficult (her goal to not remember names failed quickly), but she managed to foster a distance between them; she ate her meals alone, or with Morgan. She took long, solo watches and when she could sleep, slept alone.

When the questions came, she kept her responses vague or incomplete.

 _I was married before, well, you know._

 _Lost my daughter soon after everything went to shit._

 _Oh, Morgan and I are friends._

Sometimes, she was downright false.

 _Happily married, yes, of course!_

 _I don't have any family left._

Whatever it took to satisfy their curiosity without truly bonding with them.

In the darkest hours of the night (and sometimes during the day) her breaths came as nothing but shallow gasps, while her vision warped everything nearby into her dead family.

Rick, blown to bits by dynamite.

Michonne, the tortured woman brought in by the scout.

The dead woman in the street wore Maggie's face.

Daryl, a ragged walker wandering the woods.

She had to clench her eyes shut against the illusions and drudge up the injustice and evil that claimed Glenn and Abraham in order to ground herself again. Their faces infuriate her enough that she can swallow the guilt and fight another day.

And another.

That defense was working less and less, her heart tattered from rage, the smudges under her eyes a deep purple. Yesterday, she had nearly missed a shot at a Savior, jerking the gun at the last second. The bullet pierced his upper arm instead of his head. Only the quick reaction of Jane, her partner, saved her from his pistol.

Carol shudders at the memory and stuffs her hands under her thighs to hide their trembling. Her voice is raw when she states, "I will do it."

"You shall." All plans complete, Ezekiel hums an exhale.

The bloody sunset draws a dark curtain over the day. In the distance, someone strikes down a curious walker. Carol stiffens and craves another cigarette. They'll have to move again, and soon, if they want to reach the Kingdom before all light is lost.

"It's a beautiful night," Ezekiel declares.

Hand deep in a pocket, Carol raises an eyebrow at the phrase. "Red sky at night, sailors' delight? Maybe we should put together a navy," she ponders sarcastically.

Ezekiel cuts the thick air with a hearty chuckle. "Perhaps it indicates delight beyond the weather, my Lady?"

Carol turns to the title, eyebrows high. As she pats her pocket in search of a cigarette, she waits for his exhausting speech about positivity and finding goodness in small things. The King is good for that. However, it is an especially hard sell in the middle of a body-riddled street when her sleeves are coated in sticky gore.

And they need to get going.

Rather than a follow up chide, the King rests his gaze on her and light amusement curves his mouth. It's too soft, the way his hooded eyes glide over each of her features, lingering far too long on her lips.

Carol freezes, the setting rewinding back to a porch in Alexandria. A different man, different steps, but the same offer: Here is a good man. Attractive and intelligent. Kind. Someone who sees something beautiful in her broken soul.

 _"I could be his Queen."_

The thought forms too quickly, an old habit of living behind a mask, doing what needed done to fit in. In a split second, Carol envisions it all: her riding at his side into battle, claiming victory over the burning Sanctuary. Them, exchanging embraces and sharing a bed. Her, adapting a matching manner of speaking and a wide smile, just to complete the part. Just to blend in.

Taking her silence as permission, Ezekiel gently cups her cheeks, hope and a final question conveyed with the slightest tilt of his head.

At his touch a million horrible alarms go off in her heart. Panic races through her veins. With a gasp, she jerks away. Forgotten, the map tumbles down the steps.

"I'm sorry." Carol clenches the tops of her knee pads and glares at the red light through the trees. Her cheeks burn under trails of escaping tears.

"Forgive me," he starts, the slightest crack in his accent. "I thought..."

"No," She cuts him off and lurches upward. Hastily, she pleads, "Forgive me," and disappears into the twilight.

* * *

Two days later, she leaves her house at the Kingdom destined for Hilltop.

Under the watch of the King and Jerry, Carol begs for a break from her duties and numbly promises to share their latest battle plans with Maggie. It's selfish, but also enough of an excuse to cover up any awkwardness. Ezekiel grants her wish almost too quickly. She winces at his generosity when he provides her a horse and blatantly ignores his searching and apologetic look.

Carol assigns Jane to lead the next mission, practiced sentences falling from her lips like steady rain. The woman frowns deeply about Carol's departure, but accepts the orders.

"We'll be waiting your return, General," Jane says with a stiff nod.

"I'll be back soon." It's the automatic response, although Carol's throat tightens around the words.

After a second's hesitation Jane finishes, "I hope you feel better."

"Thank you."

The path to Hilltop is a mishmash of back roads and hiking trails; months into the war, the horse practically has it memorized. It doesn't take long for Carol's ass to numb and for a fog to fill her head. She wants to think King Ezekiel would understand her departure, one bullshitter to another. It's exhausting, all the faking.

 _"But he wears his mask gladly."_

Carol quakes knowing that, setting aside that first conversation with him in the Kingdom, he's never once dropped his act around her. That she considered fabricating a new version of herself to fall in place at his side leaves her weeping frustrated tears. It had nearly destroyed her in Alexandria, hiding her secrets, faking enthusiasm over casseroles and cookies.

Had she learned nothing?

Her horse whickers and clops off the road and onto the path through the woods. U-shaped footprints mark the entire trek up the hill and then across the ridge before dipping back down toward Hilltop. It's a long way around, a few hours between the communities. Carol urges the horse to pick up its pace even though she has no desire to race back the way she came.

(BREAK)

When she finally trots through Hilltop's gate, no one spares her much more than a wave before rushing away to one corner or the next. A hammer pounds away at the forge and hot sparks shower the dusty earth. A woman works a group of people through practice strikes with knives. There are three men tinkering with Walkie Talkies, the static an odd noise in a place steeped in history.

Maggie is nowhere to be seen. Carol pulls the horse to a halt and its shuffling hooves mimic the way her fingers fumble over the reins.

"Carol!"

Her chin shoots up at the familiar drawl. It takes her a moment to find him, hidden behind heads and bodies. Perched on a picnic bench near the trailers, Daryl lifts a hand.

Suddenly sitting on the horse is unbearable. The armor she has worn like a second skin for weeks constricts her arms and chest like a python. She sheds it along with her horse onto the waiting gate guard, and stashes her gloves in her pocket without looking away from him.

Free, Carol dashes across the lawn.

His hair is cut short, exposing large crisscrossing scabs along the left side of his head. There's a crude splint on his leg, explaining his slow movement. As she encloses the distance, she spies bandages peek out from the dark collar of his shirt. Her heart seizes as he hobbles to grab a set of crutches, knocking one over in his haste.

"Stop it," she chides and reaches for him. Daryl opens his arms to her with a desperate neediness that she matches by nuzzling the crook of his neck.

It's not the first time she's seen him since the standoff at Alexandria, when he swept her up in an embrace after the battle. He had watched her leave with King Ezekiel the day after with few words and a painful look. Since then, their meetings have been formal and structured. A quick exchange of information under the moon. A nod from across the crowded meeting room. A slide of fingers along an arm and a promise to stay safe.

They practice none of that reservation now. She grasps him tighter, greedy for more of this unexpected reunion.

He sighs in her squeeze, but breaks the moment by asking, "What are you doin' here?"

"I have a message for Maggie," she trails off and her fingers tap one by one along his shoulder. The routine message almost got lost in the fizzy light-headedness flowing through her. She slowly continues, "It's just a battle report update."

He stills her fingers under his. "I'll go with ya."

"You don't have to," she negates with a look at his leg and the crutches.

Daryl snorts, "Want to. Come on, Maggie's at the house."

They set an easy pace toward the brick mansion. Despite his uneven movement, she has no problem stepping right alongside him. People shuffle out of their way so they can take the most direct route. Daryl grumbles something about being a bother, embarrassment heating his neck. Carol cuts off his murmurs with a hand between his pinched shoulder blades.

"What happened?" She asks, hoping to distract him from the well-intentioned looks.

"Had to make a fast escape." He shakes his head and grunts, "Fell off the damn truck."

With or without a real doctor, Hilltop still had the best medical center amongst the communities. Dr. Carson left behind a well stocked office. Two trained nurses had permanently resettled here from the Kingdom. With Alexandria and Rick at the center of Negan's attention, and the Kingdom a close second, by default, Hilltop became the popular spot for medical recovery.

Carol cocked her head; it seemed odd that Daryl would still be here, however, since his injuries had obviously been cared for. It was hard imagining Rick going without his second-in-command for long. Even if Daryl couldn't fight, his thoughts on strategy would be missed.

At the same time, while she'd never be happy about him getting injured, their crossed paths had instantly settled some of her nerves.

 _"Maybe Rick hasn't swung by to get him yet."_

The crutches give away their approach and at about halfway up the stairs, Maggie, belly protruding, rushes out to greet them and wastes no time crushing Carol in a hug.

"I wasn't expecting you!"

"Our regular scout needed a day off," Carol lies over Maggie's shoulder. She then shrugs away the situation as if it was as simple as sending in a substitute teacher.

Unfazed, Maggie waves them both in through the giant door eagerly and ushers them into the office. As soon as the door seals shut, the bustling ruckus outside is reduced to a murmur. "Any news?"

"The Kingdom is ready to clear Porter's Lane. They'll be moving within the next day or so."

"Good." Across the obnoxiously large desk, Maggie has a map unrolled, the corners pinned with rocks. "We can get King Ezekiel weapons faster if they do. There are even more outposts than we thought."

"Negan's probably addin' more as we take them out," Daryl reasons, casting long sideways glances across the map.

"He's going to run out eventually," determination bolsters Maggie's words. "Or he's going to run out of people."

Carol nods as her palms sweat, suddenly uneasy now that her task is complete. Hoping to find inspiration for a relevant conversation, she glances about the hardwood and baseboards. Questions develop about the map. Or she could ask about general war preparedness. When she finishes her sweep, Maggie and Daryl are chatting and Carol finds that any conversation about war paints her mouth in ashes. She swallows.

"I was just about to take lunch," Maggie starts, indicating a spread of bread and vegetables behind her. "I'd love it if ya'll joined me."

"Eat yer food," Daryl nearly growls. "Need it for the little one."

Maggie rolls her eyes and Carol finds her amusement infectious. "There's too much food. Enid is out with Rosita. Even I can't eat it all myself!"

"I'm in," Carol chimes, latching onto the opportunity. "I'll even eat Daryl's share if he's not going to."

He snorts at her, but relents. By the time Carol's done beaming at him triumphantly, Maggie has their places made up around the table.

Over a plate of carrots and potatoes, Maggie shares small, delightful bits about the baby ("His name will be Hershel.") and Daryl grumbles about Rick and Michonne's loud nighttime activities ("Even Merle wasn't _that_ bad."). Carol thinks there are pauses specifically placed for her to jump in with details about herself. Her conversation skills are rusty; nothing but gruesome details come to mind and she chokes on the idea of bringing up King Ezekiel in any fashion. Instead, she fills the gaps with further questions about them, about their family.

They lunch for the better part of the afternoon, laughter stretching Carol's stomach as much as the food. For once, she doesn't have an immediate next step. Thoughts of the Kingdom are gradually pushed out. During one conversation interlude, Carol pauses briefly, ignoring the lengthening shadows across the floor, and spoons another serving onto her plate.

* * *

When Carol reaches the bottom of the steps, satisfied in more ways than one, she turns to watch Daryl's descent. In between a few frustrated huffs he shoots looks at the gate, the sky, and then her. Once his boots are on flat ground again, he glares one last time at the exit and scratches the back of his head.

"Gotta get goin'?"

She casts her hands out noncommittally. "I think I'll just spend the night."

Daryl hoists himself up with the crutches, eyeing her carefully. "The King isn't expecting you back?"

She shakes her head stiffly and takes interest in the ground. Shame warms her chest; Ezekiel might not expect her back, but he might be hoping for it. No doubt the rest of the Kingdom anticipated her return, those who were unaware of her request for respite. After all, the moon would be bright enough tonight for a trip and it wouldn't be the first time she traveled back roads alone. Someone on night watch would let her in and take her to the King for a report. A standard practice.

Carol bites back a wince and squares her jaw. "No. Not today."

Thankfully, Daryl doesn't inquire further. His brow smoothes and he turns thoughtful. "'M sure Maggie's got a place for you. Unless..."

She hadn't even considered finding a bed. Between her rush to get out of the Kingdom and the surprise welcome at the Hilltop, Carol hadn't had the wherewithal to put together what would happen when the sun set.

When she looks up, he's biting the inside of his cheek and giving her guarded glance. The crutches sway just an inch as he finishes, "You wanna stay with me?"

Pesky logic is the first thing out of her mouth, which is just as well, since gibberish was her other option. "Don't you share a trailer with Jesus?"

"He's out," Daryl answers quickly, fleeting confidence filling out his voice. "Maggie has him doin' some runnin'."

Case made, his cheeks flush and his back and neck bend into a shy invitation. But he keeps his gaze locked on her through his shaggy tresses.

A cool wind swirls, seemingly creating a quiet pocket around them. Something old sparks in her, a forgotten match. Unlike her initial reaction, her next response comes out smooth as caramel, "I usually wait till the second date before I spend the night."

The tease leaves her lips tingling and she has to lick them to quell the sensation. It felt familiar and good, like putting on a old favorite hoodie and finding it still fit. It also stung, like when muscles have to remember how to stretch.

He snorts, "Stop. I'll sleep on the couch."

His worn response gives her another chuckle and any remaining uncertainty dissipates.

Daryl fights the steps of the trailer, curses coming out faster than he can complete them. They enter into the small living area and the attached kitchen. Daryl pushes past her and disappears into a room on the left. She hides her smile as the fluffing of sheets and the click of his crutches come from behind the cracked door.

The trailer is a small, intimate space. There's a stack of washed dishes by the sink and a cluster of unloaded guns near the door. The floor is a faded slab of laminate that used to be white. Last night's dinner lingers in the air as a ghostly whiff of marinara and pasta; Carol smiles, pondering that Aaron and Eric must have shared some tricks with Daryl during their last spaghetti night.

"Glad yer here."

She jumps and turns at his low twang. Daryl holds the bedroom door open and then gestures with his head.

After a lengthy pause, she agrees, "Me too."

* * *

The first day, Carol begs to help as payment for the food and bed. It doesn't take Maggie long to relent and walk her over to the far end of the fence. A new latrine ditch needs to be dug, so Carol marches wheelbarrows back and forth from the fresh hole well into the afternoon. After jumping at the first loud noises that turned out to be nothing more than excited guards, Carol settles into her task.

It's a welcome change from the strain of leading troops, to say the least. Nobody needs her to watch their back while plucking fresh vegetables out of the earth. The guards are active on top of the fence, keeping walkers at bay. No body counts, no bullet dodging. Each time she pauses to stretch her spine, she catches Daryl watching from his spot on that picnic bench.

The constant lump in her throat disappears.

The hours slip away.

Under the darkening sky, as she's flexing her tight, new calluses, Maggie asks, "Are you staying the night again?"

"Yes." Carol tilts her cheek cautiously and adds, "If that's alright."

"Of course!"

That night, burrowed under the covers, Carol promises, _"Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I'll figure out where to go."_

But the promise gets pushed aside in the morning as she dives head first into the food inventory with Maggie. They pass a protein bar back and forth, counting cans and jars. Afterward, they work on a written code for the communities to utilize on maps and notes. As neither one of them are coding experts, it is nothing more than a bunch of symbols lined up together, each one representing a letter.

When Maggie goes to tend her blueberry bush, it's the first time Carol finds herself without an imposed task. A few turns around the empty grounds, she spies and follows a shuffling Daryl into the trailer.

As she pushes open the door, he is bent over, injured leg splayed out, and attempting to pick up a dropped package of gauze.

"I got it." She hesitates to hand it back to him, instead placing a hand to her hip. "Let me help."

Daryl flicks on the light before easing himself into a chair. "It's alright, I got it."

Carol ignores his outstretched hand and rips open the plastic. "Is this for your shoulder?"

"Hn," he concedes, surrendering the roll of tape on his finger. "Probably last day I need it," he says as if that's justification for rejecting help.

Carol insists, "I'll make sure it's good then. Where are your scissors?"

With a nod, he gestures towards the kitchen.

While she rummages around the drawers, the back of her neck prickles. Instinct is proven correct when she turns around and he's staring straight at her, shirt unbuttoned just enough to expose the wrapped wound. She fidgets for a second, like she just got caught in a lie, before walking over and addressing his shoulder.

"What is it?"

"You don't have ta stay, you know," he says just as she peels off the old bandage. Daryl focuses on the far edge of the room, expression and voice river-stone smooth.

His skin is warm under her fingers. The wound has scabbed over, a good sign for a scrape that was deep to begin with. There's no sign of an angry infection. Keeping her mind set on the assessment allows her to keep her pulse steady. She takes her time cleaning it while forming a response.

"You're short staffed here."

"Short staffed everywhere."

His quick rebuttal is followed by the tearing of tape. Carol rips and cuts four pieces to precise length as her palms grow clammy. It's only been two days, though that's nearly forty-eight more hours than she's ever stayed since the war started. She was always racing back to the Kingdom with a loaded gun, or into some ambush with their leader and armored warriors.

Carol frowns at the smallest thought of King Ezekiel and shoves it away. A couple of small coughs clear her throat and she takes pride in how even and playful her response is, "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"No," he answers roughly, blushing. Daryl refashions his shirt and then grips the edge of the chair.

"Glad to hear it." She punctuates it with a smile, but Daryl's frowning at her with silent thoughts and theories. Carol steps back with a wave and before he could ask any more questions, she pushes out the door and says, "I'll see you later."

* * *

The pattern repeats for a week.

She helps clean weapons, practices tactics, and gardens. Maggie never assigns Carol to a run, or even anything that would make her go far beyond the walls, something Carol never gathers enough courage to thank the younger woman for. Instead of the ragged forests and state roads of Virginia, she comes to know the picnic table outside Daryl's trailer, and the grassy lawn of the historic mansion.

Groups of people come and go. Her tears wet the markers over Glenn's and Abraham's graves. Rounds of deer meat come off the drying racks and are bagged and labeled. She memorizes the pacing between the blacksmith and the fruit trees and just how many people can feast off one of the large squashes.

New names match up with faces. She takes lunch alongside Daryl with Michael, Susan, and Andre.

With each sunset, Maggie asks the same question. Carol's answers become repetitive and predictable.

Yet she never admits she's not leaving.

Maybe she was waiting for a justification, a reason to explain her stay. Like a surprise attack or baby Hershel coming early, but the days were nothing but peaceful. At the same time, no one asked, so she simply went about her business, finding purpose and value in the supporting war roles that didn't tax her heart.

It's a quieter side to war, the home front, and it slowly replenishes the energy that had been sapped each day clearing the roads, killing, wearing the mask, lying her way through relationships.

Nothing is as effective as her time spent at Daryl's side, however.

She falls into the habit of drinking coffee with him before the sun rises, sighing as steam curls up her nose, and he rubs the ache in his healing leg. Their shared glances shoot golden, tingling electricity through her, a feeling no sip of coffee ever accomplishes. After a night of vicious dreams, she'll rest her head against his shoulder and watch the sky lighten through the crooked blinds.

A few precious times just before bed, he grabs her in a one-armed hug. Each time he seems to linger just a bit longer, just enough for her to notice his speeding heart or his hand trailing across her back.

He does not press her to explain her continued presence, though she does catch him eyeing her in that steady manner of his.

She tries not to think about the eminent end to this, when Daryl will go back to Alexandria and return to the frontlines. It creeps closer as his splint is removed and he practices walking for extended periods of time. The bandages are long gone, leaving new pink skin in their wake. He spars with Kal, and the movements and strength come back quickly, of course, because fighting is in his blood. In response, Carol dives deeper into her tasks and relishes each second with him even more.

The days grow short, minute by minute. News comes from Alexandria that another community, Ocean Side, has joined the fight. The addition sets off a round of cheers and a reinvigorated workforce. It's the same day Jesus returns and then leaves again with Kyle, this time en route to Ocean Side. There's a lull in Negan's attacks and some worry it's just a calm before the storm while others are convinced it's the beginning of the end.

At the very least, there were less injuries after the most recent raid.

Carol's armor takes on a layer of dust.

A dent forms in the pillow she uses.

One night, both women on their way to bed, Maggie says simply, "See you in the morning."

The corner of Carol's mouth curls upward with ease.

At the trailer, Daryl is holding the door open before she can reach the steps.

* * *

About two weeks after Carol's departure, Jane stops by to pick up an order of spears. When she spots Carol, she gives a polite nod before collecting the new weapons.

Frowning, Carol plucks off her gardening gloves. As she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, air cools her knees and elbows stained brown from the earth.

She hasn't touched her horse since she's arrived. It hadn't taken long for her tie to the Kingdom to go slack. Bonds forged under falsities are never as strong as those built with truth. But loose ends are still ties and they can leave fraying strings when not cut properly.

Biting her lip, Carol rushes to the stables and leads her horse to where Jane is speaking with the guard at the gate.

"Are you coming back with me, General?" Jane asks from her mount, new spearheads tucked in the side bags. Her voice waivered over the title and confusion is plain on her downturned mouth.

"No," Carol says and holds out the reins. "Give my regards to the King."

"I will..." Jane pauses, tilting her head just slightly before accepting the horse. "Take care, Carol."

* * *

"You're not going back to the Kingdom, are ya?"

Carol drops the gun she was cleaning and anchors her sweaty hands on the table. The clatter disturbs the small pile of new crossbow bolts and one rolls off the table. Daryl catches a second escapee inches above the floor and returns it to its place.

In the back of her mind, she knew this talk would come eventually. She could only hang around for so long before it became apparent that returning to the Kingdom was not a priority, or even a possibility. For the woman who had ran away from home and put up a wall between herself and her family, the change in heart was perplexing. She gets it. But, Carol had almost hoped Daryl would return to Alexandria before the topic was breeched. As it turns out, however, two weeks was long enough for the hunter.

Like a magician who blew her illusion, Carol sighs heavily and finally draws back the curtain, defeated. "No. I am not."

Daryl chews on his cheek for a moment, eyes flickering from her to the new bolt in his hand. "Why?"

They've had so many quiet moments in this space that it almost seems wrong to taint it with this difficult one. She sucks a breath through her teeth and swallows with it any coyness that threatened to dilute the truth.

"Ezekiel tried to kiss me," she begins bluntly with a flinch. It is an unfair way to start, because it's only half of the reason, but it was the last straw, a boiling point.

For a man used to making quick decisions, he processes her words slowly, irises wide and shaking. Carol holds her breath while Daryl's fist tightens around the bolt shaft. It cracks before he snaps it down on the table under his flattened palm.

In a surprisingly level voice he whispers, "Ya didn't want that?"

"No..." she trails off, relieved and nervous that he continued the conversation, and pushes her weapon even further from her. "No, I don't want to be with him. I don't want to be a _queen_ ," she waves her hand at the word and shudders. "But for a split second, I considered it. And that scared me."

He picks up and plays with a sliver of wood, rubbing the grain as he watches her. "Scared? Why?"

He's usually not so frank. Then again, they usually don't hide things from each other. Now that pieces of the secret are out, he's greedy and wants the entire story. It's both unnerving and cathartic.

"Because I lived a lie in Alexandria, with Tobin," she laments. They both flinch, the previously unaddressed subject still sharp even now. Carol rushes past it. "And I won't do it again. I can't."

Daryl drops the wood and crosses his arms. The table rocks as he leans back on it to take weight off his bad leg. It's a strong stance, and she takes in his wide biceps over his chest, the way his eyes shine like cobalt even in the dimness. The heavy blanket of tension in the room ripples but does not dissipate.

With a head jerk toward the mansion he asks, "Think ya can be honest with yerself here?"

Carol releases the edge of the table and stands to pry out one of his hands, the worked skin and the scars rough against her own. Her heart beats like a hummingbird, fragile and fast. "I can be honest with _you_. I want to be."

He's quiet for a long time and remains so even as his hand shifts to weave their fingers together. With the movement, they're yanked just an inch closer. The small space takes Carol's breath away. It lasts for merely a second before a flicker of hurt twitches the corner of Daryl's mouth and he releases his hold.

"It's been awhile since ya been honest with me." He scratches the healing scabs hidden just under his hair and the simple motion takes with it any frustration left from her earlier bombshell. It's not an accusation, but a recognition of the wedge that had been driven between them.

"I know," she echoes his defeat. "I'm sorry."

He waves off the apology and limps around, silently busying himself with lighting candles. After the room is lit with a low but cozy glow, Daryl says, "'M sorry, too. Haven't been...wasn't doin' enough for you."

Her chest tightens violently. "Daryl..."

It hangs in the air then, her whimper of his name. Shortcomings and failures have shadowed their relationship since Alexandria. Both of them alternatively pulling away from the other, or trying to draw close. Their timing was terrible.

"'M here now."

"We're here now."

The old couch lets out a little mournful cry when she sinks into it. Chilly air seeps through the weak window frame and crawls down Carol's skin. She tries to rub feeling back into her arms.

His back is to her when he starts in a ragged whisper, "Seein' ya everyday like this has been...I don' want...Tell me. You gonna leave again?"

He peaks one eye over his shoulder to catch her answer, but it's enough of a defense in case rejection waits.

"No." Carol cradles her elbows.

He shuffles over and joins her on the couch. The weak candle flames flicker over his features, never quite catching his eyes. "So yer stayin' here?"

Carol clenches her eyes shut. She wants to say, _If this is where you'll be,_ because she's tired of running from him and what he means to her. She yearns for the bond they had, even with the knowledge that renewing it would bring out other, darker secrets. But it's selfish; there is a war going on, after all. Rick and Maggie need them to be proactive, everyone does. And that means firing a gun and taking blood. She can't hide behind this wall forever.

Carol compromises with herself, "Until you're healed. Then...I'd like to go with you."

"Me?"

"Yes," she laughs at his surprise.

He bobs his head a couple of times, nibbles on his fingers as he chews on her words. The room seems to grow darker. Carol leans over her knees and watches wax drip off the lip of the closest candle. A milky puddle forms on the dish as she considers following Daryl and a return to Alexandria. If she can get just another week or two, maybe then she can strengthen herself for all those reunions. She presses her mouth into a line in resignation.

After a while, Daryl readjusts, sliding his shoulder against hers.

"Ya know, 'm not going back to Alexandria. Least, not until the war ends."

Her heart jumps into her throat and her pulse spikes. "You're not?"

A hum rattles deep in his chest as his shoulders curl inward. Hoarsely, he confesses, "After Glenn...can't leave Maggie alone. Won't. And besides, Jesus is better at diplomatic shit, so he's the ambassador for the Hilltop...and he knows the area better than me."

Flabbergasted, Carol sputters, "What about Rick? You're one of the best fighters he has!"

He nudges her boot at the compliment and explains, "Maggie's keepin' this place goin'. She can take care of herself, but with that prick Gregory plottin' against us and Negan takin' special interest in her...Jesus out most of the time," Daryl shrugs. "Ain't a lot of fighters here. It made sense. Rick didn't fight me too hard on it."

"Oh. I see." Possibilities bloom within her, the promise a new home, of reconnecting with her family, of participating in this war without losing herself. She never fathomed that he'd remain here and she'd get a better option than just treading water.

"Ya don't have to go anywhere. Could use your help." Daryl tilts his head with the offer. "And I'd like that-Maggie will like having-"

"Yes." A funny little laugh follows her grin. It was so easy to say it, it could have been a fib, or something taken back later.

He picks up on her earnest honesty, however. Daryl ducks his head and grabs her hand. "Alright then."

* * *

 **Two Months Later**

A steaming cup of coffee rests on the kitchen table. In a careful motion, Daryl turns the handle to her and gulps down his own drink. With hooded eyes, he gruffly greets, "Mornin'."

"Good morning." Carol picks up the mug and strides to the window, index finger working over a chip in the ceramic.

Icy drizzle patters the panes, tiny piles of slush slowly slide down the glass. There's no movement outside besides the guards keeping their keen eyes over the walls. Well, and the blacksmith; there's always a need for weapons and tools, even if the war is ending. Sunrise to sunset, rain or shine, the sound of the hammer bangs away the hours.

The mug is borderline burning her hands, but Carol slurps the coffee anyway to chase the chill from her knuckles. She flexes her fingers as her eyes narrow at the sloppy ground. "Are you going to cancel drill today?"

Daryl slips an arm around her waist and presses his lips to her neck. He doesn't look past her. "No. It'll be good practice. Maggie wants them ready for the next raid."

Each word ghosts over her skin and her back warms against his chest. Carol shivers under his attention, tempted to drag him back to bed. She huffs at herself.

"That's a tall order. There's only two days till then, as long as Rick doesn't change the plan."

He only grunts a confirmation, too busy trying to get her to turn into a full on kiss.

After another gulp, she sets down the cup on the sill and obliges, delighting in the way his scruff tickles her chin. The bitter taste of his coffee lingers on her lips. Caresses map her waist and sides, eager touches that do nothing to stoke productivity in her.

"I'm not leaving the walls today," she teases his pawing, still attempting to keep them on schedule. Looping her arms around his neck does not help.

"I know, but ya don't have sniper shift till this afternoon," Daryl drawls. "I got nothing for an hour. At least," he rumbles into her ear, nosing her hairline.

There are weapons to be sharpened and a part of the wall needs replaced. Maggie has a check up and they planned to prep the bedroom for the baby. They were going to double up on tasks and review interrogation questions for Gregory while constructing a crib; the asshole gave up Negan's location the other day, now they just needed the details of the building. Three students signed up for Daryl's bow training and they needed more practice to become proficient with the silent weapons so he could take them with Rick on what will hopefully be the final attack.

She's about to pull away, to laugh it off and promise quality time under the quilt later. But the sun is still just below the horizon.

Daryl is already angling them toward the bedroom, his sultry smirk visible in between kisses.

And if Carol is honest with herself, she wants nothing more than to forget her list for awhile and follow his lead. Close the door and entangle their legs, run her hands over his chest and listen to the changes in his breathing.

So, she slides her hand into his and leads him the rest of the way to their bedroom.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I wanted so badly to squeeze their first kiss into this, but it just wasn't happening. So, 'epilogue' it is. *shrug* I'm down with them slowly slipping into a relationship.

I spent some time rereading this over the last few months and while it was 'done,' it didn't feel complete to me. I know I rushed to get it posted before the Season 8 trailer was released, afraid that I'd lose inspiration. But now that we're well into Season 8, and I finally got some time, I went back and edited a bit here and there. Turns out I had over 1,000 more words to add.

Anyway, if this is your first time, thanks for reading! Drop me a review if you have the time. If anyone is rereading this thing, I'd love to know what you think about the changes. Thanks!-randomcat23


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